


Show Me

by hangonsilvergirl



Series: A Heart Made Fullmetal [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Dorks in Love, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Non-Explicit Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hangonsilvergirl/pseuds/hangonsilvergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They gather up bunches of each other’s shirts in their fists, asking wordless questions that neither of them know how to answer."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laurathecookiemonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurathecookiemonster/gifts).



Once Ed and Winry start kissing, it’s impossible to stop. They aggressively half-suffocate one another at every possible instance, both in a perpetual state of blushing to the roots of their hair. They’re embarrassed and alarmed at their lack of control, but also completely and utterly unapologetic. Who cares anymore? They’ve got nothing to prove, and are so beyond owing anybody anything at all (let alone modesty) that it’s almost hilarious. Blind eyes are turned anyway, in the wake of celebrating life, wholeness, and of having no new sagas to embark on; hell, Al and Pinako even seem to find excuses to be elsewhere, or to kick them out of the house. Granny tells them that they’ve earned the right to canoodle like the inexperienced, love drunk teenagers they are, reminds them to take time to breathe occasionally, and wishes them luck catching up with their respective libidos.

For the first little while, every kiss is a good one. Each is startlingly new, and amazing, and it’s an incomprehensible sensory overload to be sharing personal space and spit with each other. Every time they touch, it’s electrifying. They pull one another into empty rooms and closets, corners and garden sheds. They make eyes over mundane tasks, counting down the seconds until they get to kiss again. They gather up bunches of each other’s shirts in their fists, asking wordless questions that neither of them know how to answer. Ed waggles his eyebrows like a lunatic, and Winry rolls her eyes, but smiles. They laugh at nothing, play footsie at the dinner table, and purposefully let touches linger just because they can. Al makes gagging noises when he catches them at it, which is often, but they can both tell that he’s pleased they’ve finally gotten around to being together (even if he wishes they’d do their together-ing out of his line of sight).

When Ed is grumpy and frowning like an old man, eyebrows creasing deep between his eyes, Winry sneaks up on him, blows raspberries on his arm, and then runs away laughing as he shouts reproachful obscenities after her. (Every time, Granny threatens to wash his mouth out with soap. Every time, he responds by calling her an ‘hoary midget crone’, and gets whacked upside the head with a wooden spoon.)

The novelty of near-literal face-sucking does wear off. They slow down, start taking their time, and start talking to one another. Slowly but surely they develop an unspoken language, correctly interpreting body shifts, tensing, and tugs, and learn to distinguish the _ow_ from the _wow_ in each other’s quiet, sometimes hesitant, murmurs. Their relationship tagline becomes _show me_. There’s a lot of awkward laughter and studious observation, and there are many, many redos. They take turns burrowing their flustered faces into blankets, pillows, and each other’s clothes. (Each reminds the other that there’s no one else they’d rather be so idiotic and vulnerable in front of, that there’s nobody they’d rather learn with.) They start holding hands wherever they go, stroking thumbs and periodically squeezing, leaning into each other’s shoulders. Sometimes Ed brings Winry’s hand to his mouth, and carefully kisses each knuckle, watching her face. Sometimes Winry leans up and kisses Ed on the cheek, and then his earlobe, gently. Each action is followed by shy, pleased smiles.

A few months after the start of what Al has dubbed The Age of Making Out, Ed and Winry get caught in a rainstorm coming home from the village. They seek refuge in a neighbor's barn, and watch lightning ignite the sky through the open hayloft. Edward sits behind Winry, arms wrapped around her. She leans into him. He kisses her face, her neck, and shoulders. He tells her she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

(Sometimes they whisper their I Love Yous. Sometimes they say them loudly and faux-sappily, to get a rise out of Al. Most of the time they say them with looks instead of words.)

One day, in the heat of summer, they go to pond they used to swim in as children. They lie under the shade of a big tree, in thick grass, half-clothed and sweating. They kiss for hours, and come home sunburned and dehydrated.

In the last few weeks of August they meet every night on the porch, after Al and Granny have gone to bed. They hold hands and tell all the stories they’ve misplaced or forgotten to share. Some nights are funny, and they worry that Ed’s cackles and Winry’s giggles will wake the rest of the house. Other nights are sad and somber, and Ed holds Winry as she cries out all the tears she locked away inside herself in order to keep her promise to him.

Most nights they don’t talk at all, but lie on a blanket in the yard, alternating between watching the stars and bolstering their physical relationship. Ed learns that Winry is ticklish at the soft skin of her hips, where her pajama pants ride low. Winry discovers that running her fingers through Ed’s hair, and massaging his scalp, causes him make wonderfully indecent noises. Ed counts and kisses each of Winry’s moles, and plays connect-the-dots with her freckles.

They do inventory of one another’s scars. Ed’s body is the map of an uncanny life, while Winry’s half-forgotten stories--dropped knives, mishandled scissors, broken glass, misaligned screwdrivers--play hide-and-seek on her wrists, fingers and toes.

Ed finally works up the courage to put his hands on Winry’s ass. She laughs at him. He tells her to shut up and then does it again, pinching one cheek just to be annoying. She yelps, and he combatively swallows the sound.

The next night he goes for broke and grabs a breast through her shirt. She only encourages him when she starts carefully guiding his hands.

The night after _that_ , Winry’s shirt comes off, and so does her bra. Ed ogles her until she calls him an idiot and tells him to _do_ something. He touches each breast near-scientifically, with an awe-struck sort reverence, and watches her like he’s conducting an experiment when he takes a nipple in his mouth. He files each action--nip, suck, lick--away, alongside the noises they cause Winry to make. He kisses her belly too, and laughs as she squirms.

One brave Saturday-almost-Sunday, Ed finds stretch marks on the inside of Winry’s thighs, and marvels at how differently their bodies have cataloged their growth. He internally chastises himself for being intimidated by Winry’s damp underwear, and tugs them off slowly. He wants to savor the lust-lidded, pink-cheeked look on her face, but finds his brain is screaming nonsensically and distractedly. He does his best, with her help, and gets her off, to his own relief. He’s not sure he’s ever faced anything so terrifying as pleasuring another human being.

He is proven wrong the next day, with his pants and boxers around his ankles, Winry straddling his legs, eagerly and carefully taking his dick in her mouth.

Summer wanes, and the leaves start turning. More evenings are spent in the living room, inside, with cups of tea and books, legs strewn over one another. Ed and Winry’s night-time routine moves inside, into the basement with its somewhat sound-proof walls, two floors below the bedrooms. They are severely lacking in proper sleep, haven’t slept right since July, but don’t care at all. They seek getting-off-nirvana, gaining confidence with each passing encounter, and start talking more openly about what they like and don’t like, start asking if they can try things. They still blush, but not so deeply anymore. They fool-around, then take turns being the big spoon and little spoon, talking out their past, present and future. More often than not, and whether explicitly stated or implied, ‘future’ involves the two of them; thoughts like how nice it will be to do these things in a bed, and how nice it might be to have a home of their own someday.

It’s Winry who brings up sex.

It’s after the snow has started, sometime in mid-November. Al has gotten reacquainted with all the kids they went to school with, and attends things like barn dances where he can stuff his face and ask pretty girls to gambol with a sweet smile and a flesh hand. Granny starts a rotating poker night. Ed and Winry are going to be left to their own devices for the entirety of a Friday evening, so on the Wednesday Winry suggests they take the next step. (She doesn’t want her first time to be on a cement floor.) Ed makes a choking noise, but manages to eke out “You sure?” Winry snuggles into his side and wraps an arm around his middle. He kisses the top of her head habitually. “Yes,” she tells him. “I love you. I want to.” He asks about protection. She says she has that covered. He jokingly accuses her of having the whole thing laid out, and she bites him in response.

They lay quietly for a while, watching snow pile by the windows in the dim basement light. “Okay,” Ed says finally. Winry sighs happily.

Ed is a jittery mess for the rest of the week. There’s a more pronounced bounce in Winry’s gait. Al voices his belief that they’ve finally driven each other off the deep end. Granny expresses her disappointment that Ed’s inherent weirdness is wearing off on her granddaughter. Ed sulks at this, but Winry smiles wider. On Thursday she makes cupcakes, which Al eats suspiciously, though he nor Granny vocalize any thoughts they might have. Ed and Winry don’t meet on Thursday night, so as not to be tempted.

Once they’re alone on Friday night, Winry takes Ed by the hand and leads him up the stairs to her room. He’s blushing to the roots of his hair again, and Winry asks him why he’s so nervous. “I dunno,” he shrugs, and she pulls his shirt up and off over his head. “It’s a big thing, isn’t it?” She agrees that it is, yes, but that it’s okay. He sucks lightly at her neck as she pulls his hair tie out. Ed kicks the door shut with his foot, then Winry pulls him toward her bed.

In the end it’s a little awkward, but sweet. They pay careful mind to foreplay, in hopes that things won’t be too uncomfortable for Winry; it only is for a little bit. Trying to find rhythm sees them laughing in the middle of it, which they both recognize as a sign that they’ve made the right choice. Things run a little smoother after that. “That wasn’t so terrible, was it?” Winry asks afterward, voice soft and pleased-sounding. “No,” Ed agrees. “It was fucking awesome.” Winry snorts and tells him he’s about as romantic as a head cold. Ed says “Yeah. But you love me anyway.”

She really does.

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally a Tumblr prompt](http://hangonsilvergirl.tumblr.com/post/103181378444/ed-an-winrys-first-time-doesnt-have-to-be-explicit).


End file.
